


Endeavour

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Series: Cabin Crew Riot [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Phobias, Sheep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:24:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hercules Shipwright had been trying to conquer his fear of sheep since he was five years old.  And he’d been trying pretty damn hard if he could say so, thank you very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endeavour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompt Seven of the October 2012 Cabin Crew Riot: [Seven Virtues](http://cabincrewriot.tumblr.com/post/33043045467/seven-virtues-for-this-prompt-each-team-will-be) (sub-prompt: Diligence).

The worst thing about of Herc’s fear of sheep wasn’t the ridicule it earned him. It wasn’t even the assumptions people made about his choice to be a vegetarian. It was when, after they’d been associated with him for a while, people accused him of not trying to conquer his fear.

Hercules Shipwright had been trying to conquer his fear of sheep since he was five years old. And he’d been trying pretty damn hard if he could say so, thank you very much.

It wasn’t an easy process, by any measure.

As a child, Herc had been chased down by a large, mad ram. He’d barely been able to outrun the creature; it chased Herc across his father’s friend’s farm, not letting up its pursuit of the little boy even after Herc scrambled into a chicken coop. The ram struggled to reach him, headbutting the walls of the coop until the wood splintered, all the while snorting and bleating in a manner that, to a small child, was simply monstrous. By the time the animal was hauled away and Herc was rescued from the chicken coop, his young, impressionable mind was filled with sights, sounds, and smells that would haunt him for years to come.

Therapy had been the obvious answer.

Throughout the years, Herc had seen psychologist after psychiatrist after phobia specialist in an attempt to deal with his irrational belief that any sheep, no matter how big or small, would hunt Herc down with the same deadly conviction as that mad ram. It was an enormous uphill battle as Herc feared all sheep, in any shape or form: male or female, lambs or adults, fuzzy or shorn, even living, plush, or dead. His fear was the real reason he’d given up meat; it was easier to say he was a vegetarian than it was to explain that he lived in fear of mutton rising from the plate to devour him before he had a chance to devour it.

It was a lifelong process. Weekly sessions from the time Herc was seven, group therapy with other people who feared animals (although theirs were often more respectable animals such as bears, or lions, or sharks), and a few trials with hypnosis, cognitive behavioral therapy, and medication. It was an arduous journey marked by relatively few successes, the sheer weight of which only Herc and his family truly appreciated.

At age ten, Herc had his last sheep-related nightmare.

At age twelve, he was able to wear wool again.

At age fifteen, Herc could tolerate the presence of fake sheep (animal cookies, puppets, plush animals, sports mascots, etc.).

At age twenty-five, he was able to drive past or fly over flocks with minimal levels of anxiety.

Therefore, when, at age fifty-eight, Herc was able to stand feet, mere _feet_ , away from droves of sheep, the moment should’ve been lauded as the accomplishment fifty-three years in the making that it actually was.

Instead, Carolyn bleated mercilessly at him.

“Stop it!” he protested. “It’s not funny!”

“If I can just pick you up on a small point there, Herc, it is the funniest I’ve ever heard,” she laughed, making no effort to hide her mirth.

Herc turned from her, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not, actually. Why do people always react like this?”

“Yes, though of course, now, now I understand the vegetarianism.” Herc was acutely aware of Carolyn’s footsteps yet their proximity to so many sheep still caused him to start when she appeared at his side. “You fear reprisals,” she grinned. “The midnight raid on your house: twelve balaclava-ed ewes with a thirst for revenge, a jar of mint sauce, and a murderously sharp spring of rosemary!”

The small, and probably intentionally playful, poke to his side that accompanied the word ‘rosemary’ was more than enough to get Herc moving. He had stood near sheep, shared a knoll with a whole flock of them; that alone was a monumental achievement and he did not have to rush himself into any additional contact.

“See you back at the car!” he called over his shoulder.

Herc hurried back to the pavement, eager to put distance between himself and the suspiciously docile creatures, but not before snapping a picture with his mobile. He would send it to Sarah, Wellington, and Harrier to show them how close in proximity he’d been to real, live sheep.

They’d understand.


End file.
